


Deus Vult

by Flyboy254



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, BattleTech: MechWarrior, Firefly, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Girls und Panzer, Hellsing, My Little Pony: Equestria Girls, Overwatch (Video Game), The Irresponsible Captain Tyler
Genre: Adventure, Crossover, Military, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-20 21:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11929791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flyboy254/pseuds/Flyboy254
Summary: It is the year 3146, and the battlefields of the future are dominated by huge robotic war machines known as battlemechs. Piloting these awesome weapons of war are men and women, the elite of the elite, fighting with the knowledge that each battle may be their last.They are Mechwarriors.Despite the loss of the majority of the Hyper-Pulse Generators in the Inner Sphere, the machinery of government within the Successor States and Clan Occupation Zone continues on. In such a dangerous era, the state of the mercenary market is more unstable than ever. This has made the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission the ultimate authority on the mercenary business. All units, large and small, indirectly find themselves under the umbrella of MRBC.What is always forgotten in the mad scramble of power that is the Inner Sphere is the small time mercs. The great companies long-since fallen from glory. The up-and-comers trying to make their mark on the mercenary market. The borderline criminals that are only hired when no one else will take a job.But according to all official records in the Inner Sphere?Nothing you are about to read ever happened…





	1. Prologue: The Holy Spirit

**_Prologue: The Holy Spirit_ **

_Pope Clement XX, Vicar of Rome, heir to St. Peter, leader of the Roman Catholic Church, watched as the fires leapt higher in the sky, smoke turning day into night. Still, as far as the end of the world went, it wasn’t as bad as Pope Clement’s ancestors had probably imagined it._

_It had started with the “less important” faiths first, but to the pope that was just a phrase used by the Christians inside the forces destroying the Vatican to justify what they were doing. The Golden Temple of the Sikhs, Sri Harmandir Sahib, was destroyed and to be melted down. Not even for electronic components that might have served a purpose, but for medals and awards. The ancient Shinto temples in Japan were demolished with bulldozers, the ancient trees turned into kindling with chainsaws. Nepalese Buddhists watched as their monasteries were destroyed by air strike, as Hindu temples were coated in the blood of their sacred animals. Westminster was turned to ash. Not even Native American sacred sites were spared, set alight with napalm and crushed by tanks and mechs. Religious leaders were rounded up by the usurping forces, publicly tortured and executed in such a grim display that even Torquemada would pause at their debauchery._

_Pope Clement knew that the three Abrahamic faiths were left to last to be made an example of. Mecca was razed, the few remaining ancient buildings demolished one brick at a time live for all to see. Al-Ḥajaru al-Aswad was ripped from the structure, then slagged by a laser. A Mackie had stormed over the Kaaba itself, and then for good measure was shown stomping on, then rubbing out the Station of Abraham. Pope Clement let himself grin a little despite everything. The Saudi people (Funny how the old map lines refused to die on Earth) had destroyed Medina themselves to deny their enemy the pleasure._

_Jerusalem was crushed. The Dome of the Rock was destroyed under treads, as another Mackie practically strolled through the Wailing Wall. The ultra-orthodox Jews fought hard, forming human barriers against the onslaught. They were slaughtered to a man and woman. Piles of bodies in plain black clothes were left to be incinerated, as the broadcasts played a picture of the Haiga Sofia being razed._

_The Catholic Church was the last, and Pope Clement knew the most savored target. As the single largest faith it had to be made the most publicized example of them all. Notre Dame was demolished and the rubble pushed into the river. Fatima had been dug up and scorched by airstrike. He had watched from the papal apartments, watched with his camerlengo as the armies marched on Rome itself. The head of the household even tried to fight with these foes, but to no avail. Pope Clement felt the most pain from the fact that he couldn’t give the last rights._

_“Look at it burn.” Pope Clement was snapped back to the reality in front of him. “Look at it burn in front of you. Your treasures destroyed.”_

_Pope Clement steadied himself and thought, “_ Here we go.” _“The treasures of the Church are the poor and suffering,” Pope Clement said calmly, standing tall despite the pain in his heart. “They are the sick and the needy, as Jesus taught us.”_

_The man laughed aloud. “And I suppose hoarding the finest works of art and billions of dollars for yourself, somehow they’re part of his plan too?”_

_“_ Sophomoric” _, Pope Clement thought. “The Church is a human institution, therefore the mistakes it made were the mistakes of men. That is why Christ was sent down to guide us from sin.”_

_The man sneered and stepped into better light. Pope Clement took in the face of Stefan Amaris. Somehow it was remarkably free of ash and grime, though blood wasn’t in short supply. “Your childish answers only show how detached you truly are from the people you claim to lead.”_

_Pope Clement didn’t reply, but watched as St. Peter’s Basilica started to give way. The Sistine Chapel had already fallen, the ancient fresco inside lost but for a few pictures that failed to truly do justice to the timeless masterpiece. God could give knowledge no more._

_“You know what I need however,” Amaris growled. Grabbing the pope, the usurper spun Pope Clement around to show the assembled cardinals. Traitor soldiers stood ready, pilot lights on and masks obscuring their emotions. Did they really believe Amaris, Pope Clement wondered? Or do they only want to follow the orders that won’t get them killed? Some of the cardinals wept at the destruction of the Vatican. Some prayed. A few tried feebly to fight back, and that had impressed Pope Clement a little. At their ages, they were administrators only. To be willing to fight back was something else entirely. “You want their lives don’t you? Tell me where you sent it.”_

_Pope Clement drew a breath. “They are not mine to give. They belong to the children of God.”_ “Plus I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to,” _Pope Clement thought, hiding his bemusement at even being_ able _to have that run through his mind. “_ So good luck getting the answer out of me.”

 

_Amaris’ face contorted into a mask of rage, forcing the pope forward towards the cardinals. “You are going to tell me where the Archives and Library are, or you will watch them burn.”_

_“_ God, you really think we’re that stupid don’t you.” _Pope Clement held firm despite it. He looked over the faces of his cardinals. These men, these shepherds of Christ’s flock. Some had come from families that had been in the service of the Holy See for generations. Some came from inauspicious beginnings to rise through the ranks of the priesthood to arrive at a position second only to his. Some had been sinners who redeemed themselves in His service, and others knew their time had been coming to an end before the coup. But they all had a light, didn’t they? Pope Clement saw it in their eyes. Bearing the traditional vestments of their calling, each man with a cross around their neck, the fires of their holy relics and priceless works of man’s arts seemed to light something inside them as well. To a man, each one suddenly looked at the pope with conviction. As if to say, “Don’t you dare.”_

_The pope took a long breath and stood tall despite the laser pistol pointed at his head. “I said that I do not know. If you wish for a lie, you must look elsewhere.”_

_Amaris didn’t say anything for a second. Then he barked, “Burn them!”_

_Pope Clement forced himself to face forward as the cardinals were set alight in front of his eyes. The old men in front of him turned into small infernos in red, their screams practically cut off in their throats by the fire burning the air out of their lungs. The troops surrounding them were impassionate figures in the fire, but the pope could tell that there were a few who hated themselves, considered what they were doing a grave sin, a mortal offense. Some tried to take their hands off the trigger, but even a glance from Amaris forced them to keep firing._

_The pope felt his mind drift back to when he first realized he wanted to be a part of the Church, the quiet dignity of his local parish as a boy, the words of the priest giving him the first homily he could remember. That quiet speech, that small, Sunday talk about the Good Samaritan, guided the pope from childhood to becoming the bishop of Rome. And now his cardinals were burning to death because of one mad man who wanted to be king._

_Looking up into the darkening skies, Pope Clement felt his eyes begin to water. The rational part of his brain knew it was the smoke, the ash getting into his eyes. But the part that knew the spiritual, the side that couldn’t afford to think rationally, the one that operated on belief, it felt deeply the pain the world, that_ mankind _, was going through right now. Feelings the tears streaming down his cheeks, he looked down to the burning bodies of his cardinals and reminded himself that they were martyrs, the fertile soil of the future Church. The Holy Spirit was with them now, taking them under escort to God’s care. He started to laugh, it was the truth now. As St. Peter’s Basilica collapsed behind him, as the Sistine Chapel still burned, Pope Clement XX looked to the sky with a thankful face and smile. “Deus vult.”_

_Amaris shot the pope, the wound cauterizing instantly. The body of the pope fell back, dying in the care of St. Joseph; a smile on his face in his last seconds on Earth. “Tear it apart!” Amaris stormed to the commander of the infantry battalion. “Tear it apart, every stone and piece of marble, find the archives!”_

_The commander jumped to and started barking orders to his men. It didn’t matter that the Vatican was still burning around them, the important thing was that First Lord Stefan Amaris had given an order. If his men couldn’t find the archives, he wouldn’t be alive to see tomorrow. But they didn’t. And he wasn’t._

_In his final fit of pique, the eternal city was wiped from history. The mushroom cloud was one of the tallest ever recorded for a nuclear weapon._

* * *

 

_The room was massive, as befitted the Commonwealth, but the duo inside made it seem cavernous in how much empty space there was. The empty sound practically echoed through the chamber, the two having set white noise machines in the perfect places to cancel out any listening devices._

_An enlisted man ran through the gargantuan doors, shutting them quickly.“The transmission from Oberstleutnant Kosovskaia arrived,” he said solemnly. “Rome has fallen.”_

_Oberstleutnant Nikolaus buried his face in his hands, as Oberstleutnant Brunegg stared out the windows of the planet’s ducal palace. Alarion was willing to grant them refuge, the kindess of the planetary nobility built on the fact that the Vatican was willing to facilitate a negotiation with one of the planet’s leading families to marry into the nobility. Everything old is new again._

_The two were the only leadership of the Swiss Guard left. The rest had left elected to remain behind, sending the rest of the Swiss Guard, their families, and any other religious they could fit onto the jumpships for the journey._

_Brunegg spoke first. “We can’t stay in the Inner Sphere.”_

_“And where do you propose we go?” Nikolaus jumped up and motioned to the windows. “You think the periphery states would be somehow more willing to accept us than the successor states?”_

_“We have the latest reports on possible colonies,” Brunegg argued. “We were given these to escape, we need to hide these priceless treasures or die trying.”_

_“And what about our_ people! _” Slamming his fist on the table, Nikolaus went to the window. “We have thousands of people out there that are relying on us to find them a new home, not just hide books and treasures that mean nothing if we leave them to die!”_

_“Then we will find a new home!” Brunegg slammed his fists on the table. “The war between the successor states and Amaris will drag on, far longer than any of our own will be safe in. Either we flee or we die. God’s will shall guide the rest of the Inner Sphere.”_

_Nikolaus nodded. “Deus Vult.”_

_Standing, Brunegg sighed and looked to the junior soldier. “We need to keep the children calm. Tell them a simple story, something they can understand. Something that if broadcast will make the entire Inner Sphere think we were a group of mad, lost souls that should be ignored in exchange of more vital threats.”_

_“You think they will believe it?” Nikolaus asked._

_“What matters is that the war against Amaris will focus them all in on Terra rather than trying to extort our charges.” Striding forward, Brunegg heard his fellow Swiss Guard fall in behind him. “Send a message to the surviving cardinals and Swiss Guard on New Avalon. Let us ready the flock my friends. Now is the time.”_


	2. Chapter 1 - Soldiers Missing Fortune

**Chapter 1 – Soldiers Missing Fortune**

 

* * *

 

By the time the sun started to rise over the horizon, Sir Integra Van Helsing was already awake. For a solid hour and a half she had taken care of her morning workout, readied her uniforms, and took a shower. Which still left her a good twenty minutes before it was daylight.

 

Striding out onto the balcony, Integra brushed her hair quickly as the sun finally started to crest the distance. It was going to be another slow, dull, dreary day, she could feel it. The planet was a long, never-ending parade of fighting off pirates and raiders from the Hegemony. Never anything truly dangerous or challenging, but worth the board the planet’s government was willing to put up for her. Or her company.

 

Finished, she went to her bureau and reached into the top drawer. She quickly found what she needed and let herself smile as she pulled out the humidor. Taking one of the cigars out, she put the humidor back and walked out to the corridor.

 

Walter was already waiting for her.

 

“Good morning Sir Integra,” Walter said, quickly snipping the tip off the cigar as Integra brought it to her lips. “Daily tech readouts are waiting on your signature, the planetary leadership is on their way to speak to you regarding the contract negotiations, and Ms. Victoria is claiming that, as per usual, Capt. Bernadotte should be reprimanded for his actions during last weekend’s leave.”

 

Integra nodded as she let Walter light the cigar. Taking a few quick puffs, Integra exhaled the thick, noxious smoke as she stalked to the maintenance bay. “You can tell her that just because Capt. Bernadotte decides to chase after the local barmaids, it doesn’t justify docking him pay or rewriting his contract.”

 

Stepping onto the gantry, Integra looked out over the mech bay, and found it as empty as it was yesterday. A few scattered techs were moving about, some idly chatting with each other as they smoked, a few leering at noteputers with lecherous grins. One or two were actually doing their jobs, taking stock of the two mechs that actually took up space in the hangars. Integra took a slow breath. There was no point in screaming at the rest to do any work when this was all the work there was to do. “Is the captain awake?”

 

“I already called their quarters, I believe he and his men should be rolling out of bed any second now ma’am,” Walter said, holding out a datapad and stylus. “The planet’s governor should be here shortly, 0830 hours I believe they said.”

 

“Can’t even keep a bloody even time,” Integra grumbled, scribbling her signature onto the data pad. “Have the conference room prepared for the meeting,” Integra ordered. “Odds are I’ll pass Ms. Victoria on my way.” Walter bowed out quickly, and went to take care of the paperwork for the day as Integra marched on to the conference room.

 

“Oh, morning sir!” Looking right, Integra saw Seras Victoria clambering up a ladder, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Snapping crisply to attention, Seras gave a salute to her commander. “Contract is up today right?”

 

“Correct,” Integra grumbled, Seras moving ahead to get the door to the administrative section of the facility. As part of the board, the planetary government had added a section of offices to the small hangar facility Integra had taken as her base. But that was long ago, and what had been a staff of twenty had dwindled down to one butler who still managed to get all the work done. Not that there was much to be done.

 

Seras tried to keep a smile up as she followed her boss. “I don’t suppose Capt. Bernadotte will _not_ be attending this meeting then?”

 

“Quite the opposite,” Integra said, tapping the ash from her cigar. “I want to make sure he’s here for today’s meeting.”

 

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

 

The administrative section was carpeted, painted a quiet light blue compared to the harsh metal bulkheads and glaring lights of the bay. Despite that Integra’s footsteps echoed through the halls, Seras dutifully following behind her as a good subordinate.

 

A coughing came from around a corner, and seconds later the disheveled uniform of Capt. Pip Bernadotte shuffled into view. “Morning boss,” he mumbled, rubbing his forehead. “Sorry, the boys and I really tied it on last night and-”

 

“We are about to negotiate to remain on this planet for another year Mr. Pip,” Integra growled, grabbing him roughly and quickly straightening out the uniform as best she could. “Don’t give me a reason to send my infantry company out on the next dropship.” Pip looked like he was about to argue, but a glare from Integra quickly shut him up. “Right, message received boss.”

 

Satisfied, Integra took a breath and walked for the conference room at the end of the hall. Taking a breath, she walked in to see Walter already inside setting up for the meeting. “I took the liberty bringing your breakfast here,” he said, setting out trays of food and readying the necessary paperwork. “I also took the liberty of making sure that the militia commandant’s favorite brandy has been prepared.”

 

“Well done Walter,” Integra said. “Captain, I presume that your men won’t be making themselves a nuisance today?”

 

“As well-behaved as angels,” Pip said, trying to play off his hangover. “Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if the locals asked us to stay on another year just because of how properly my men act off-duty.”

 

Seras fumbled with her spoon at the statement. “You have _got_ to be joking! Your men are singlehandedly keeping every bar and club in the capital operating at a profit! Half the working girls know you all on a first-name basis! And need I remind you of the time you nearly got me into trouble with the local police involving third platoon and that ‘commandeered’ cargo hauler?”

 

Integra ignored the two going back and forth as she looked down at her breakfast. A small bowl of porridge, two cooked slices of bacon, toast, and a glass of orange juice. Letting out a breath, Integra started to eat. It wasn’t that Walter’s breakfast tasted terrible, if anything Walter was capable of turning three-day old Range-bull meat into gourmet filet mignon with several side dishes from a single potato. But Integra’s family had roots in Terran England, and it was impossible to deny that a good hearty breakfast was one of her greatest joys of the day.

 

“Well what do you expect?” Pip said. “My boys are stuck here waiting for pirate raids all the time. Why do you think they’re frustrated?”

 

“They’re still to be held to a standard of professional behavior,” Integra said. “You were hired because I was given the impression that you could be a professional off the battlefield in addition to your capabilities in combat.”

 

“ _And because you were affordable._ ” Integra kept that to herself. Pip was a capable soldier, but the fact was that of all the infantry she’d found, his company of men were frankly the least likely to bankrupt her or ruin their contract.

 

“Normally I’d agree with you,” Pip said, Seras happily scarfing down her breakfast. “But the men’s morale is low. They need action, something to occupy their time that doesn’t involve stripping their weapons eighteen times a day. Seriously, I counted.”

 

“Well you don’t see me going out and raising hell every weekend,” Seras argued. “You raise so much hell that I’m more inclined to spend a quiet night in at the base than be wrapped up with your problems.”

 

Pip gave a grin. “Now that’s a waste.”

 

As Seras glared at the soldier, Integra took out a remote and turned on the monitor in the conference room. The morning news segment was just about to begin.

 

Even after centuries away from Terra, news intro segments hadn’t changed much anywhere humans had settled. A short little bit showing off the local highlights, then a pair of anchors sitting behind a desk. Some planets even _still_ retained an ancient title, “Action News”.

 

“Good morning, this is Lahti Action News, thank you for joining us.” The anchor was as all news anchors were supposed to be; perfectly coifed hair, strong jawline, peerless smile. His co-anchor was just as perfect. Styled hair, form-fitting outfit, with just enough cleavage to entice the male viewing audience but not enough to force anyone to think of the children.

 

“Local militia forces were again called to deal with a major disturbance in the capital last night, as mercenary infantry from Nightshade Combat Services were again accused of vandalism, property damage, and disturbing the peace. Local magistrates quickly cleared up the matter, though many are not happy.”

 

As the scene cut to “man on the street” interviews with witnesses, Integra glared at the monitor. So that’s why Seras was angrier than usual. She didn’t have to glare at Pip, the mercenary was already sinking into his seat to try and avoid notice. Words like “Danger”, “Bastards”, “Lunatics”, all were thrown around with every interview to deal with the incident last night.

 

Pip finally spoke up. “I don’t suppose I could say anything in their defense?”

 

“No, you couldn’t.” Integra leaned back in her chair, idly puffing away on the cigar. Part of her was livid, but another couldn’t blame her men. Pip was right, even she was feeling it. There was _nothing_ to be done. The Hegemony wasn’t raiding this close to the Inner Sphere anymore, not with the Free Worlds League slowly being rebuilt. Worse, the pirates gangs were only raiding one every few months, rather than the constant raids when the Blackout sent the Inner Sphere spiraling into chaos. Why raid a small lone planet when there were Inner Sphere worlds ripe for the taking with starved, forgotten garrison forces?

 

“Sir,” Seras asked as she pushed her empty dishes away. “Do you think we’ll still have a contract?”

 

Integra’s face didn’t betray any emotion. “I can’t answer one way or another,” she said passively. “It all depends on how charitable the leadership is.”

 

As the news wore on they finally started moving to more “uplifting” pieces. Local scouts excelling in their wilderness training, up-and-coming militia mech pilots, civic works meant to improve the lives of the people. Each one a smokescreen. Lahti had no manufacturing that would be worth a damn to anyone in the Periphery or Inner Sphere. There were no resources to draw on that would make the planet a trading empire or even a partner. A few years ago there was even a desperate bid to find any potential lostech, but the majority of people know that was at best a pipe dream.

 

The phone on the wall rang. Seras jumped up to answer, Integra sighing as she realized she had already finished half her cigar. “Hello? Oh, one sec.” Pressing her hand on the receiver, Seras said, “The leaders are here _now_ , they said they felt they should surprise you.” It was impossible for Seras to hide the panic in her voice.

 

“Tell Walter to bring them here immediately,” Integra said firmly. “We’ll handle this and get to our afternoon training.”

 

It wasn’t five minutes later before Walter showed in the planetary nobility. The trio of men were old, clearly on the worse side of 80. They also had the most money, land, and leadership ability on the planet, and were the ones who decided whether Integra still had a home for the next year. “Commander Van Helsing,” Lord Irons said, striding regally into the room. Trailing him were Sir General Walsh and Marshal Penwood, respective heads of the planet’s milita and aerospace force. “ _Grand titles for such a useless lump of rock._ ” Integra kept that thought to herself.

 

“Gentlemen,” Integra said, standing to welcome the three. “Walter, please clear away the plates. Forgive me gentlemen, we were just finishing breakfast.”

 

“And watching the news,” Walsh said with a sly grin. “I saw it myself on the way over. Quite the fun time your boys seem to have had, eh?”

 

Integra didn’t need to glare at Pip, the mercenary quickly found something interesting outside the windows. “I assure you gentlemen, the men are simply feeling the need to find an outlet for their energy. As you can imagine, the recent decrease in pirate raids has left us with much more time to spare.”

 

“Then perhaps the time has come to consider cutting your force?” Irons gave a small aside glance towards Pip. “After all, we can’t pay you simply to sit around, can we?”

 

“No, you most certainly should not.” Integra was doing her best to imitate some semblance of professional ethics. “Perhaps we should simply talk through this.”

 

For the next hour talking was all that happened. More accurately, the three nobles talked _at_ Integra while Pip and Seras felt like they were being turned into decorations for the room rather than members of the unit. Everything from property damage (Pip) to disturbing the peace (Pip), misuse of government property (Take a guess), and even assault on an officer of the peace (Not Pip, actually, but Seras) was brought up as Integra was forced to weather the verbal abuse. Whether she did though, her expression unchanged as the trio finally wrapped up their verbose assault an hour later.

 

“Frankly,” Walsh said as Irons wrapped up. “It seems to us like your place on this planet is rapidly becoming too much trouble for what we’re paying you.”

 

Penwood quickly cleared his throat. “Then perhaps we should let Sir Integra speak in defense of herself?”

 

Sir Integra let herself soften a little. It may have been because her father helped Penwood secure his position on the planet, but Penwood always had a softer spot for Integra than Irons or Walsh. “Thank you Marshal. Gentlemen, you have ably pointed out that Capt. Bernadotte and his men are in fact a poorly disciplined collection of infantrymen who at best are more effectively utilized patronizing the local bordellos and brothels than serving as infantry.” She paused to let Pip think she was serious. “What I fail to recognize is how your government has seen fit to let such a situation develop in the first place despite my warnings that this would happen should we go too long without any duties to effectively perform.”

 

The two lords looked like they just were slapped across the face with the flat side of Integra’s ancestral sword. She pressed on all the harder for it. “I warned you all that with the pirate raids slowing in frequency that my men would need additional duties to perform for the local government or they would fall to low morale and constant boredom. Your reply, Gen. Walsh, was to imply that good soldiers need not fear boredom by dint of being soldiers.” Walsh blinked, and Integra tried to zero in on the kill. “And let us not forget that two months ago my forces were able to surround and halt an assault by a force of pirates while your men were still picking themselves up after the Founder’s Anniversary celebration. The only reliable support we had was the squadron Marshal Penwood had on-duty at the time.”

 

Walsh and Penwood both looked shocked, of course for different reasons after all. Lord Irons didn’t react, he just pushed his eyeglasses up. “Be that as it may commander, we have corrected that issue since.” Standing, Irons made his way to the door, Gen. Walsh trailing behind with a shit eating grin plastered across his face. “You have three months until the contract is up. I recommend you start a search for new employ, Van Helsing.”

 

Integra didn’t rise as they left, didn’t react as her cigar smoldered down in her hand. She could see Pip and Seras looking at her and each other, trying to figure out what they would do now. “Sir Integra?” Integra looked up in surprise and saw Marshal Penwood standing by his seat.

 

“Marshal Penwood,” Integra said in quiet surprise. “What is it?”

 

Penwood sighed and walked over, a sorrowful expression covering every inch of his face. “I tried to convince them otherwise, Sir Integra, I truly did. Truth of it all is that they can’t afford to pay anymore, this was just a convenient excuse to finally cast you off.”

 

Seras jumped up as she slammed her fists on the table. “You’re joking! That’s ridiculous, if it wasn’t for us they wouldn’t have any money at all, the damned pirates would’ve looted the entire place seven times over!”

 

Penwood glared at Seras. “You think I didn’t try to argue that? They cast it aside, said that between my wings and their militia that they can actually fight back.”

 

“I’m thankful you made an effort regardless,” Integra said, starting to puff away again. “Perhaps they’re right though. We all knew that our forces weren’t going to stay here forever.”

 

Penwood took out an envelope. “Then perhaps things have ways of working out.”

 

Integra took the envelope and looked it over carefully. It only had her name on it, “Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingate Van Helsing”. But as she turned it over to the back, she paused. The wax seal was marked with an ancient symbol, older than even her Black Knight, than the Star League, than even the K-F drive. Two crossed, ancient-styled keys, under a massive tiara.

 

The coat of arms of the Holy See.

 

“It was delivered to me by hand, via a priest,” Penwood said, looking apprehensive. It was like being in the same room as the envelope was uncomfortable for him. “They said it was to be delivered directly to you.”

 

Integra stared at the envelope, then slowly looked to Penwood like she expected an answer.

 

Penwood sighed. “I’ll never be able to repay your family for their help, Sir Integra.” Integra took note every time he used that word, “Sir”. He was the only one on the planet who was a leader who cared enough to use her actual title. Well, former title, but for Penwood it was always her actual title. “What your father did for me, when your family first took the contract, I can never do enough for you. But we should face the reality of it all. You were never meant to stay here forever, chasing off pirates and fighting the odd Hegemony raiding party.”

 

Integra didn’t answer. Penwood was right, the man had an innate talent for apologetically cutting to the heart of an issue, whether it was his own failings as a commander or the reality of a situation others found themselves in. For all his faults, the marshal was an adept reader of situations when he wasn’t panicking.

 

“I’ve never really believed that fate was a sentient thing, Sir Integra,” Penwood said. “Sometimes though, things happen for a reason. Perhaps this is your signal to move out to greener pastures?”

 

Integra didn’t reply immediately, still staring at the envelope. “It wouldn’t be too much to expect passage on a dropship in return for terminating our contract early?”

 

Penwood nodded. “I can see to it when you reach a decision. Good day, Sir Integra.”

 

Seras and Pip stared at the envelope too, both trying to puzzle out exactly what this might entail. For Integra, it was a slow opening of the envelope, gently breaking the seal as she withdrew what was inside. Carefully reading the paper, her eyes went wide. In milliseconds she jumped up and shouted at the retreating for of Marshal Penwood, “Get that dropship ready yesterday!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So to all those reading this one and wind up liking it, be warned that my job forces me to focus on pretty much one thing at a time. I'll keep working on this one as best I can, so check in every so often and don't think that just because there hasn't been a fast update that this story is abandoned. For now, enjoy and stay tuned.


	3. Chapter 2 - The City of Tomorrows

**Chapter 2 – The City of Tomorrows**

 

Months aboard a dropship are never easy to bear, never mind the fact that recently many captains had decided to ban smoking aboard them to make the oxygen scrubbers more efficient. So for Pip and his men, the journey had been pretty rough.

 

For Integra, she was ready to rip someone’s head off for a smoke.

 

The shipboard intercom blared to life at last. “Atmosphere in five minutes, all passengers and crew prepare for re-entry.”

 

“Guess that means us,” Seras said, quickly pressing off the side of the hull she was on towards her mech. “Think they’ll have someone waiting for us sir?” Integra didn’t answer, climbing into her family’s ancient Black Knight. Seras quickly busied herself with getting into her Gùn. Unlike Sir Integra’s ancestral machine, Seras’ _Harker_ was a captured model she’d gained fighting against a Capellan unit during her early service. It hadn’t helped that when she’d taken the mech, her unit had been annihilated as she was being shipped to the rear to recover.

 

She quickly strapped herself in, donning her coolant vest and neurohelmet. The mech began to boot up, the reactor whining to life after she did her little dance with the stick to activate the mech’s systems. She skipped the weapons checks for once though, by now New Avalon was well and truly fortified to the point where no one would try for it, making any threats moot.

 

“What do you think it’s like Mr. Pip? New Avalon I mean.”

 

 _“Migonette, you see one fancy developed world, you see them all.”_ Pip’s dismissiveness over the radio wasn’t hard to pick up on. _“What I want to know is who we’re meeting with when we land.”_

 

 _“We were told that a contact would find us,”_ Integra radioed. _“Now pipe down so we can focus on the landing.”_

 

It was always the same every time Seras was on a dropship on re-entry. No matter how heavy the dropship was, the sheer force of the atmosphere on the hull always rattled her brain in her skull through the mech. Isaac Newton might have been long dead, but dammit it if the man’s laws didn’t always come back and bite your ass.

 

As the dropship shuddered through the fire surrounding it, Seras felt her head shaking around in her neurohelmet. As the ship fell to planetside, Seras looked around at the mech bay. A few other mechs were inside, other mercs on their way to contract with the Federated Suns probably. They hadn’t talked with the other mercs, apparently they considered Seras’ company “Too little to be worth anything”. So she’d been stuck trying to keep her sanity intact the whole voyage dealing with Pip and his men in the passenger hold as Integra kept rereading the message.

 

Seras had tried to take a look at the message itself, but Integra always held it close, out of where wandering eyes could see it. Some of the men had tried to sneak into her quarters, but Walter was always waiting outside, always politely reminding them that Sir Integra didn’t tolerate fools lightly as casually as if he were talking about the quality of the air aboard ship.

 

The ship lurched, Seras shaking in her seat as her brain took a few seconds to decide which way was still up. “Landing successful, prepare for disembarking.”

 

Seras flexed the myomers as the doors slid apart, sunlight streaming through at last. Smiling as she saw the light of a star finally streamed across her cockpit, she felt the restraints slack and fall away on _Harker._ It always made her happiest, getting off a dropship to feel the sun come down. Getting the all-clear from one of the crewmen at the door to the hold, Seras sent the signal to the legs.

 

 _Harker_ groaned after months of being kept in a box, but after a few seconds the rhythmic stomp-stomp-stomp of her mech down the ramp to the busy spaceport was pure music. It was something she couldn’t explain, but she had to stop and take it all in.

 

New Avalon, the capital of the Federated Suns, was a bustling location even during the earliest morning. All across her field of vision, half a dozen dropships were landing and unloading and readying for take-off. Industrial mechs and power-suits scurried about with cargo, uniformed AFFS troops and orange-vested spaceport workers moving every which way. Crews welded the dropships together, fractured armor plates and weapons mounts sparking with labor as Seras watched.   
  
_“Yes, Sera, it’s quite impressive,”_ Integra radioed. _“Now would you like to keep moving so we can keep our meeting?”_

 

Seras gulped and got her mech moving again, looking down to see the Wild Geese tromping down the ramp alongside her. Pip claimed that his unit was the original Wild Geese of ancient Terra, and that the mercenary command in the Federated Suns on Alta Vista was just a cheap imitation. Unfortunately for the men, everyone else that might be interested in hiring them never looked low on the MRCB ratings for the Wild Geese. “So where to now sir?”

 

“We stow the mechs and our equipment,” Integra said, stepping past Seras in the ancestral Van Helsing Black Knight, _Barghest_. “Capt. Pip, you and your men will remain with us at all times. Walter will be keeping an eye on you to ensure proper behavior.”

 

Pip grumbled knowing full well he was caught. “It’s like you don’t trust us.”

 

Stowing the gear (And spending what few pounds they had loaned to them by Penwood), Integra led the way to the planet’s maglev system. It was one of the prides of New Avalon, a fully functional train system stretching across all major continents, provided free of charge as a public service. The fact that it displayed the sheer skill of the scientists and engineers of the New Avalon Institute of Sciences was just icing on the proverbial cake.

 

Boarding the double-decker cars, Integra took a natural stock of the car to gauge who was inside. Mostly it was civilians and diplomats, retinues of dozens of people taking up space when one or two good bodyguards were what were necessary. Laborers getting ready for a few hours relaxation before going back to the yards, spending time at a local pub or with the family. Actually, they were all going to be spending time at the pub in that case. Then there were the mercs.

 

They weren’t hard to ID, they all wore their uniforms even in the maglev. Some were well dressed to professional standards, actual uniforms typically meant they were professionals, well-ranked according to the Board. Of course, on New Avalon only the best mercs would be present for a contract or deal, which is why Integra was thankful she had told Seras to change before they had left the hangar, nevermind herself.

 

It was a simple affair, a dull field-green jacket and slacks, the only insignia her family’s ancient unit symbol. A red and black field, a tower in the lower right, and on the upper left an ancient saying, “We Are On A Mission From God”. It had always been something to her, seeing it on her father’s right arm every morning when he left and every evening when he came back.

 

“So what do you think the letter was about?” Seras whispered to Pip. The crowd would easily drown her out anyway.

 

“I’m not sure. All I can imagine is that whatever the Church wants to talk with her about, it must be important.” Looking around, Pip surveyed the mercs. None of them had anything out of place on their uniforms, cleaned of Irish pennants and all patched or mended. Even if Integra knew they looked professional enough to the civilians, Pip was smart enough to remember that in his sewn-together patchwork battle dress, he was one of the shabbiest people on the carriage.

 

They sped through the outlying rural areas, farmlands and small villages flashing by in blurs of earthen tones and dulled colors. Occasionally they passed through the edge of a small city, the busy streets and hustling residents slightly brighter, more colorful blurs. The men made what small talk they could, taking in the blurs or, more often, elbowing each other when they spotted a particularly attractive woman on the car. Seras was fine with that, they’d all given up thinking they had a chance with her a long time ago.

 

The train began to decelerate, and Seras realized that they were arriving in Avalon City, shining jewel atop the crown of the Suns. Before she could react, the men rushed to the windows, pressing her into the glass. “Hey, back off, I need to breathe too you know!” Still, it was a sight to behold even as Seras was pressed up against the window. The sight of the sprawling yet verdant city in front of them was beautiful. Far in the distance was the palace of House Davion, the seat of power for nearly a quarter of the Inner Sphere. Seras never felt more than passing loyalty to the Davion family, or the Federated Suns as a whole, but she did know that when you were so close to such power, you respected it.

 

The view of the city vanished, replaced with the artificially lit interior of the maglev station. As the infantrymen finally backed off and let Seras breathe again, the young mechwarrior took in a deep breath to make sure she still had working lungs. Following the others off the train, Seras stayed close to Integra as they made their way through the crush of people in the station. Politicians and officials were speeding about, security forces spread through the crowd as evenly as possible, bomb dogs sniffing through the scents in the air to make sure there was nothing amiss.

 

“Eyes up,” Integra said, somehow managing to bark an order even through the dull roar of the station. “We have a contact meeting us, according to the offer they should be fairly obvious.”

 

Seras pondered what that could mean, an obvious contact. Would he have their name on a small placard like they were VIPs at a starport? Would they be taken aside by armed figured in suits? There were a thousand possibilities, but the reality wasn’t anything she expected.

 

“Excuse me?” The voice was practically drowned out by the press of the crowd, but Seras still managed to pick it out. Turning, she saw a small man in a black cassock and glasses. There was a nervous smile on his face, but it felt like he was trying to make himself unseen. “You wouldn’t happen to be members of Nightshade Combat Services?”

 

Seras smiled at the small priest. “Yes, we are, are you the person we’re supposed to meet with?” The words seemed alien the second they left Seras’ mouth. They were mercenaries, paid to kill and die, and here she was talking with a mousy little priest about whether or not he was the man they were supposed to meet.

 

The priest shook Seras’ hand. “Yes, a pleasure to meet you. I’m Father Thomas Maccabee. Are you Cmdr. Van Helsing?”

 

Seras laughed at the thought. “Oh goodness no, I’m Seras Victoria, I’m one of her mercs. Sir Integra is…” Seras blinked. In the few seconds it had taken to talk to Fr. Maccabee, the rest of her company had melted into the press of the crowd. “Going to kill me.”

 

Integra looked around the terminal and noticed something off. “Walter, is Ms. Victoria still with us?”

 

Walter blinked and took a quick scan of the area. “No ma’am, I think she’s been separated from us.”

 

Integra sighed, there was no point in getting angry over something that might not have been Seras’ fault. Though she’d have to get angry at Seras in front of a few of the men on principle.

 

Pip decided to finally speak up at last. “So, when are you finally going to tell us about what was on the letter?”

 

“It was an invitation that could lead to a contract,” Integra said, taking out the folded paper from inside her jacket. “Read it for yourself.” Looking carefully at the paper, Pip looked it over as he read it in his head.

 

“ _Sir Integra Van Helsing,_

_“I am a potential employer looking to assemble a group of mercenary companies willing to undertake a potentially time-consuming and perilous recovery mission. I am only taking companies I see fine potential in, and yours is one of the best names I could find.”_

_“Should you be interested in this contract, I invite you to come to New Avalon. Please arrive at Avalon City within three months, and you will meet your contact to take you to meet me.”_

_“Sincerely,_

_An interested party_ ”

 

“Reads like poor spy fiction,” Pip said, handing the letter back. “Sounds like an amateur looking to have himself a little adventure to escape the life of the idle rich.”

 

“Precisely my thoughts,” Integra said, stuffing the letter back inside her coat. “Except the seal. Why is a member of the Catholic Church looking to hire mercenaries? The seal implies this was official correspondence, yet is left anonymous. Someone with the money to hire multiple mercenaries, and being a high position in the Church’s clergy, that’s not quite your regular amateur.” Pip nodded in agreement. “Have your men spread out and find Ms. Victoria, we’ll meet at the terminal exit in thirty minutes.”

 

Pip nodded, and after quickly rounding up his men the mercenaries split up through the terminal. In twos and threes the mercs scattered everywhere, checking everything from the small food stalls along the main concourse to daring to dash in and out of the women’s rooms to make sure she hadn’t just heard the call of nature.

 

One of the mercs groaned, rubbing at his forehead. “Where the hell do you think she went?”

 

“You don’t think she ran into some MIIO thug?” His buddy looked nervously around the corridors and concourses. “What if they recognized her?”

 

The first merc jabbed his buddy in the ribs. “Shut the hell up, what if someone hears you?”

 

“Well it’s not like the rest of us are very popular in the Sphere,” the second said, rubbing at his side. “I mean what do we tell Sir Integra if that’s the case?”

 

The first man shuddered involuntarily. “Let’s, let’s not think about that yet.”

 

“Hey, guys!” Spinning, the two men saw Seras maneuvering through the crowd with a priest in tow. “Hey, I found our contact, Fr. Maccabee.”

 

The priest nodded. “A pleasure gentlemen.”

 

The first merc rubbed at his eyes. “Well at least you’re still here. C’mon, we need to get you to Sir Integra.”

 

The two practically were bodyguards, leading Seras and Fr. Maccabee through the packed terminal like a plow through snow. Slowly other members of the Wild Geese coalesced with the four, until by the time they got to the exits there were about twenty of them formed up around Seras and Fr. Maccabee.

 

Integra’s glare was strong as she looked down on Seras. “I trust you have a _very_ good explanation as to why you separated from the group?”

 

Seras felt her spine weaken a little under Integra’s anger. “Uh, well sir, I found, um, I found our contact.”

 

Integra barely shifted her stare over to Fr. Maccabee. “You’re our contact?” Maccabee nodded, trying to lean back as far as possible from Integra. “You have a transport to take us to your superior?” Another nervous nod. “Then lead us out of here before I decide that the contract isn’t worth the trouble of getting here.”

 

Fr. Maccabee quickly broke through the door, and after the men were rounded up Integra led the way out of the terminal, Walter already handing her another cigar the moment they were out of the building. Taking a long series of puffs, Integra let the sickly-sweet taste of the cigar wash over her as a pair of transports pulled up to the building. They were based off an ancient Terran design, scaled up of course but with the same basic principle. So in under two minutes, the entire understrength company was loaded and ready to move. “Capt. Bernadotte, load your men up double-time.”

 

As Pip loaded up the men, Integra looked over to Fr. Maccabee. “And where is my vehicle?”

 

Fr. Maccabee blinked, caught unaware by Integra’s question. “You mean you aren’t going to ride with the men?”

 

“I’ll handle this Sir Integra.” Smiling politely to the priest, Walter moved to a concierge stand to ask for a car as Integra decided that she should start glaring at Fr. Maccabee instead of Seras.

 

“Poor man,” Seras said, taking a seat near the back of the truck. “Think he’s wondering why God’s doing this?”

 

“Man like him thinks that God has a reason for everything,” Pip answered over the rolling conversation of his men. “As far as he’s concerned, his boss called Sir Integra here to do some good for the Church. So he puts up with everything she does and serves God the best he can. As far as he must be concerned, whatever our boss puts him through is just another struggle putting him closer to God.”

 

“He’ll be right at the gates when he dies then.” Seras had a chuckle as she looked around the side to see the priest fidgeting nervously standing next to Integra. “You’re a Catholic, right captain?”

 

Pip finally lit a cigarette. “Raised a Catholic,” he said, taking a long drag. In seconds the entire back of the truck was filled with smoke. Seras wondered if she was going to get cancer secondhand from it all in the next few years. “ _Grand-_ _père_ had me sent to the local Catholic school.”

 

“And how did that go?”

 

Pip tapped the leather patch over his left eye and smiled. “Didn’t take.”

 

A limousine finally pulled up to the concierge stand, but as Fr. Maccabee started to get into the front passenger seat he heard Walter cough. Turning around, he saw Walter holding the door open as Integra got inside. “I drive alone, father. Sir Integra would of course not mind any company for the ride. Though I will need instructions on where we’re to go.”

 

“Y-yes, of course.” Stammering our the directions, Maccabee hesitantly stepped into the limo and taking a seat as far across from Integra as possible. Integra said nothing, she just stared into Maccabee. Snipping a new cigar and lighting it for his master, Walter shut the door and went to the driver’s seat. Maccabee thought of making some kind of conversation, but a long, thick exhale of smoke from Sir Integra into the confined space kept his mouth shut. The hour long drive didn’t help in the least.


End file.
